


The Garden

by kathkin



Series: Summerpornathon 2011 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!AU. Arthur and Merlin meet in a virtual world once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/)**summerpornathon** 2011 challenge three: alternate universe.

Merlin could never concentrate on Fridays. They always passed in a haze of spilled drinks and apologies and admonishments from the manager, under slept and tingling with excitement until it was _finally_ time to leave the café and go home. Except he never went straight home.

He was already running a few minutes behind when he left work, and what with that and the hold-ups on the ring-train, he was a full half hour late by the time he got to the Network Centre. His palms were sweating when he swiped his card at the door, and he was panicking a little as he settled himself down on the padded couch, because what if he was too late? He’d never been so late before.

He forced himself to calm down as he went through the standard procedure – gloves, wristband, headset. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes to avoid the steely-black glint of the blank screen over his eyes, and said, “Ready.” He heard the chirrup of the automated system in response, then the whoosh of the VR starting up, then for a brief moment there was nothing at all, no sound, no sensation, just dark numbness, before the garden faded in.

The grass was velvety-soft against his skin. There was a faint whistle of birdsong somewhere in the distance. He opened his eyes and stared up at the trees, at the dancing coloured lights flittering between the branches, the bright, luminescent flowers dotted around the grass. It was all just lights, tiny specks pressed tightly together, if you looked too close you could see the gaps. It wasn’t real. But Merlin didn’t mind, because Arthur was real.

He was waiting under a tree, already naked, pose dripping nonchalance, but his gaze was fixed on Merlin as he approached. “You took your time,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Merlin. “Some stuff. Happened.”

(They never talked about their lives. Ever. Merlin didn’t even know Arthur’s real name, or where he lived, or if he was even really blond.)

“Doesn’t matter,” said Arthur, standing up with far more grace and elegance than was fair, even in VR.

There was no point in pleasantries. Arthur kissed him hard, hands gripping his hair, his waist, roving all over him, under his shirt, hot against his skin. “Too many clothes,” Arthur muttered.

“I like it when you take them off,” said Merlin, and Arthur grinned, and stripped him, slow and methodical (Merlin liked to think he did everything that way, in real life, when he let himself wonder).

“Want you naked,” said Arthur, and kissed him again. “Want _you_. God. Want your mouth.” He pushed Merlin down to his knees, and Merlin went easily, mouthed at Arthur’s virtual prick, lapped at his balls, drawing out a delighted moan. He’d been thinking about this all day. All week, even.

“Been looking forward to this all week,” Arthur drawled, taking Merlin by the hair, urging him on. Merlin wanted to say _god, yes, me too_ , but Arthur’s prick was in his mouth, sliding over his tongue, and it wasn’t quite real, it was better than real.

(He’d met a girl in a bar the other week, and despite all his friends there it had been on the tip of his tongue to say _sorry, I’m taken_ , even though he wasn’t, not really.)

He sucked and licked until it wasn’t enough any more, until he needed every bit of Arthur. He drew back slowly, making Arthur whine, then tugged him down to the velvet grass.

“I want you in me,” he said, kissing Arthur, quick and wet. “Now. _Please_.”

Arthur shoved him back onto the grass with hardly a word and began to work him open, pushed two fingers up inside him, and Merlin opened up smooth and easy, gasping and begging and writhing.

(Sometimes he let himself wonder just who Arthur was, if he was really as blond and muscled and perfect as his VR avatar. He wondered just who it was that he had shared every last secret of his body with.)

Arthur teased and toyed with him until he could hardly stand it, until every inch of his virtual skin felt as if it were ablaze with light and heat, glowing like the flowers in the grass, then pulled Merlin’s legs apart roughly, lined himself up, and grinned down at him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I hate you,” said Merlin, then “Oh god, oh god, oh _yes_ ,” as Arthur finally pushed inside him, hot and hard and _perfect_ , fucking him until he could hardly breathe, until all the swirling lights in the trees blended together into one great blaze, _red-green-blue-purple_ , until they were writhing and panting together on the soft grass, Arthur’s breath hot on his neck, hands holding him down and open.

Arthur came inside him, long and loud, then juddered to a halt, face a few scant centimetre’s from Merlin’s, something like wonder in his gaze.

“So,” he said after a breathless moment. He swallowed. “You’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect-er,” said Merlin, and Arthur laughed, eyes crinkling up at the corners. They were blue, so very blue, but Merlin didn’t want to look too close, in case he could see the pixels that made them up, like the flowers. He touched instead, ran his fingers down Arthur’s spine, making him shiver. “We should –”

The lights of the garden flickered around them for a second, and Arthur sat up abruptly. “Time’s up.”

“Already?” said Merlin, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Well, you were late,” said Arthur, voice taking on a hard edge.

Merlin started to say, “I’ll make it up to you next week, I promise,” but Arthur ended the session before he could finish, and he found himself back in the Network Centre, lying on the cold, smooth bed, headset staring down at him blankly, the automated message urging him to _come back soon_.

Of course he would. Same time next week.


End file.
